


i searched my whole life for a dream and found one in you

by doolray (grifs)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fake AH Crew, Fluff, M/M, Secret Santa, fakes love the "no one else has been able to" heists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 10:22:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16993215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grifs/pseuds/doolray
Summary: Trevor calls the job, "the most ambitious heist ever pulled in this city."Ryan calls it, "casual fun."Alfredo - well, Alfredo just wonders what it'll actually feel like to betray the LSPD, finally.





	i searched my whole life for a dream and found one in you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [romanee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanee/gifts).



> for the rt writers discord secret santa this year - happy holidays, roma! i've always adored your writing, so i hope you enjoy this :) "anything with alfredo" was the biggest mood
> 
> warnings for: non-graphic violence (it's only mentioned in passing once or twice, not explicitly written), guns, burning of a car

“Stop spiking your coffee with energy tablets, you’ll die.” Trevor says, casually, as he strolls through Geoff’s living room and levels him with a look that makes him regret ever promoting the guy. Alfredo’s not far behind, as always, and Geoff makes a sound that’s somewhere between a scoff and a sigh when Trevor pulls two drinks from Geoff’s fridge without asking and tosses one to his partner. 

“You can’t talk,” Alfredo says, falling onto the sofa next to Geoff. “Didn’t you use to mix Red Bull into your coffee?”

“Allegedly,” Trevor replies, a smile playing at his lips. “And I wasn’t doing it while planning possibly the most ambitious heist ever pulled in this city.”

Geoff scratches at his forehead, glancing at the maps, scraps of paper, and blueprints scattered across the coffee table and narrowing his eyes at the mess. They’ve been planning this for weeks - months, even - ever since he and Ryan first decided to go out with a bang before attempting some kind of retirement. He’s not sure anyone ever retires from being a mob boss; but he’s already successfully passed over the reigns to the kid in his living room and it’s not caused too many troubles, so the next step is moving a little further out of the city with his boyfriend and trying to live some kind of normal life, albeit on stolen fortunes. 

The plan has gotta be foolproof, and with the ridiculous amount of fools in his goddamn gang, that kind of planning would put grey hairs into even the most relaxed of men. But this plan only includes him, Ryan, Trevor and Alfredo, so while the total amount of fools involved is lower than usual, the risk of foolish acts is at least ninety five percent.

Plus, Ryan’s wanted to hit this exchange for years. That’s the main reason Geoff’s so worried about getting it right. No gang has ever done it successfully, and he wants the Fakes to be the first. 

Twice a year, six million dollars, freshly printed cash, is transported into Los Santos by the LSPD. It’s eventually distributed between different government agencies in the city, but before it is, the money’s all together in a few cases of notes, in a van or two driving through the less densely populated parts of the city.

There’s enough decoy vans, convoys, and helicopters to confuse anyone less experienced than Geoff - hell, if Geoff didn’t have Alfredo’s inside information, he’d probably be just as lost - but they’ve nailed down a way to work out which one is true. Geoff reckons if he can get some false information into the right hands, if a smaller gang takes that bait and makes a halfhearted, unplanned stab at the money, it’ll rattle the LSPD just enough to halt the money’s movement for a short amount of time. Alfredo knows the safe-houses they’d hole up, and also assures Geoff he’ll be able to simultaneously fuel and quell the LSPD’s panic to give Geoff and his crew the opening they need.

Alfredo nudges Geoff’s arm.

“Run me through what you’ve got so far.” he says, then leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Trevor sits down across the table from them, cross-legged on the carpet. It’s then that Geoff notices Alfredo’s still got his LSPD badge hanging around his neck, and he wonders how he hadn’t seen it before. It’s strange to see that in his apartment, but he pushes the thought away.

“Okay,” Geoff starts, running a hand through his beard. He reaches forward to pull a detailed map of the city to the top of the papers, and searches for a second before pointing at a structure in the upper east-side, below Vinewood, next to the river. “That’s where you said they’d probably hold the cash if anything went sideways. Two hours before the hold-up is hopefully confirmed, we’ll be here.” He points to a street corner about a mile north of the bank. “Ryan’s gonna wait out a little closer - here - just in case anything changes.”

“I’ll be with the team transporting it too,” Alfredo nods, “So I’ll tell you if anything does.”

“That’s good.” Geoff replies. He’s still worried - knows he can trust the kid, but something never sits right when he can’t figure out that last bit of the plan. None of his crew ever seem to stick to the fucking plan, anyways, but that’s his gripe for another time. “Just can’t really find a way to get in there without getting shot on sight.” He continues, pulling a blueprint out from under the map.

Trevor sits up straighter, leaning so he can see more of the surface, and quietly studies the print. Alfredo does the same, but Geoff notices his attention flit between the drawings and Trevor’s concentrated expression equally. A paternal kind of fondness clenches at his heart once he spots it.

“Pretty secure building.” Trevor says, after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

Alfredo nods, and meets Trevor’s eyes. “We’ll have both the entrances covered by two officers. Nothing around for cover on the street.”

“We’re not looking to kill any of them, either, right?” Trevor asks, looking to Geoff deferringly. 

“No.” Geoff confirms, shaking his head. “Cause us more trouble than it’s worth. And we’re not going in too quietly, either, so I guess we can just stick them up.”

“If you took this entrance,” Alfredo points out, “You’d have to get the two of them, but it leads into a backroom. We wouldn’t usually have guys in there, so you could keep it calm that way.”

“He’s right,” Trevor says, fighting a fond smile. “That’d give us a chance to check out the inside, too, before we go too noisy. Provided we can get to that entrance without being seen.”

“Easy enough.” Geoff says, the wheels turning now, “There shouldn’t be anything stopping us getting into the alleyway behind it on the street behind, following it through, then just climbing down.” He points back on the city map to a gap in the buildings on the main street, opening up almost directly behind the target building. 

Alfredo shrugs, then nods, in response, sipping at his drink.

“How many boys will you have inside?” Geoff asks him. Alfredo scratches at his head, then looks at Geoff.

“Three, maybe? Four if we’re being careful, spread out over the ground floor.”

“Two plus four, against three.” Trevor laughs, “This’ll be fun.”

Alfredo snorts into his drink, then gestures with it widely. “You’ve got Haywood,” He says, “He’s the equivalent of about ten of my guys.”

Geoff smiles, rubbing a relieved hand over his face. He casually slaps the other hand onto Alfredo’s back, patting his palm between Alfredo’s shoulder blades.

“We’ve got a week to worry about it, yet. For now, who’s up for a round of CoD?”

Alfredo and Trevor laugh, and agree, as Trevor leans backwards, stretching across the floor to grab them each a controller and turn the console on.

 

&&

 

Familiarity strikes Alfredo in a way it never has before as Trevor turns the key in the lock, gives him that smile, and they tumble into the flat together. Alfredo flattens his back against the door as soon as it’s shut behind him, pulling Trevor towards him and gently letting him kiss the smile off his lips.

“What was that for?” Trevor says, when they pull apart, stray hands still lingering on shoulders, on hips, on chests. Alfredo fights the heat in his face and shrugs.

“Can’t I kiss you just because?” He replies, peeling himself off the wall. They walk through the hallway and into the living room with their fingers interlinked.

Alfredo ignores how they’re sickeningly, obviously, in love, and allows himself to just enjoy it. What with Trevor’s increased activity with the gang, and Alfredo’s attempt to stay in his boss’ good graces, they’ve barely seen each other recently. He supposes it’s more related than that, though. What with all the robberies Trevor’s been involved in, and Alfredo’s not-really-that-new dirty streak preventing him from actually solving any of those robberies, they've been like strangers. The longest they’d been around each other in the last two weeks was on Tuesday - though a high speed chase through the dark, grimy streets of Los Santos was not Alfredo’s idea of a romantic getaway, however. Especially when he’s chasing Trevor, who was driving a car far superior to the beat cop’s cruiser Alfredo had acquired to do the chasing. 

He’s just happy to have his boyfriend here, with nothing immediately pressing they need to do for a while.

“You feeling okay?” Trevor says, his thumb rubbing a stripe down Alfredo’s own.

“Yeah,” Alfredo nods, a small, pleased smile breaking out on his face. “Excited. Nervous.”

“That’s how it always goes.”

“I guessed.” Alfredo replies, collapsing back into their sofa and pulling Trevor down on top of him. Trevor curses when Alfredo’s knee awkwardly makes contact with his stomach, and the sound sets Alfredo laughing. But soon they’re both giggling, limbs all tangled together, sweet kisses interrupted by another mutual bout of laughter.

“What are we doing?” Trevor says, propping himself with one hand on the back of the sofa, still hovering over Alfredo.

“Taking a nap,” Alfredo mumbles, moving to twist so his legs are up and he’s lying across the width of the sofa, pulling Trevor with him.

“We’ve only got a few hours,” And Trevor relaxes despite his words, resting his head on Alfredo’s chest and idly dragging his fingers across the material of Alfredo’s t-shirt.

“Enough time to sleep.”

Trevor leans up and presses a kiss to Alfredo’s jaw, and the sincerity of it makes Alfredo want to hold him tight and never let go. “I’ve missed you,” Trevor says, quietly, meaningfully. It’s a contrast from the lighthearted fun Alfredo knows forms the basis of their relationship. It’s how they started, and it’s how they’ve continued for all these months, but he wouldn’t change it.

“Me too.” Alfredo says, just as quiet, just as sincere, like they’ve got nothing else to worry about. Like they’re just two ordinary, law-abiding office workers home from their 9-to-5 shifts. Like they’ve got plans to grow old together, have kids and grandkids. Like they’re not living on a knife tip, jumping off buildings every other day and just hoping someone is there to catch them. Because that’s what they have to imagine - their fantasy life. God knows, Alfredo supposes, how the hell a dirty LSPD detective and a career organised criminal were ever allowed to meet, allowed to love, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t thank the old guy for it. 

Neither of them would change it for the world, they both know this intimately and without doubt, but sometimes Alfredo wishes it could have been different. Sometimes he wishes they lived different lives, didn’t have to give up so much to be with each other. Because Alfredo knows, in the end, he himself will have given up his career, his friends, his life - and Trevor will give up his gang, his family, for Alfredo. Geoff’s always preached loyalty, and Alfredo can’t help but think in being loyal to Trevor and the crew, he’s betraying everything else he used to stand for.

They’ve been lying there, comfortably silent, for a while, now. The sun’s just starting to hit the middle of the sky, and it strikes through Trevor’s bay windows as if unstoppable, illuminating the intricacies in Trevor’s face, with his eyes closed and a peaceful, almost serene expression. It’s like he’s glowing.

“Stop staring.” Trevor mumbles, the words half muffled in Alfredo’s t-shirt.

“I’m not.” Alfredo replies, unsuccessfully fighting the grin on his face, tightening his arms around Trevor.

“You are, I can feel it.” He cracks open an eye, squinting a little in the sunlight. 

“I’m just thinking.”

“Sounds dangerous.” Trevor, for all the minimal complaining he did earlier, murmurs his words as if he’s been on the edge of sleep. There’s still the characteristic snark in his voice, though.

“Shut up.” Alfredo replies, shifting his head slightly to release a pressure in his neck he’d barely noticed was there. When he speaks, there’s something in his own voice that he hadn’t noticed, either. It’s something quiet, something lurking. Something vulnerable - scared. 

Trevor notices it, though.

He shifts in place so he’s lying on his side, squished between the cushions and Alfredo’s body as opposed to being mostly on top of Alfredo before. He curls an elbow under himself gracefully and props his head up on his outstretched hand. 

“I’m nervous too.” He says, first of all, and it catches Alfredo’s attention just as he wanted it to. “I’m fucking terrified, in fact.”

Alfredo shakes his head and makes a sound of disagreement, shuffling to give Trevor some more room to lie. 

“Yeah, I am. And whenever I am, I can figure it out. Talk to Geoff, Ryan, whoever. Take a ride out to Chilliad and brood on the top for a while. We’re not organising the fucking school bake sale. We’re committing a crime, ‘Fredo. We’re stealing things from bad people that don’t want us to steal it. It’s dangerous. It’s scary. It’s normal to be nervous.”

“It’s not the stealing I’m worried about,” Alfredo replies, still so quiet.

Trevor makes a noise of understanding, reaching his free hand out to squeeze Alfredo’s wrist. No, he’s worried about what comes after. What happens when he’s betrayed the LSPD, when he’s running from the law with his lover, his best friend, twenty minutes after he’s maybe just had to knock out a guy he’s known since they were in the academy. 

“We don’t -” Trevor starts to say, then cuts himself off. Alfredo knows he’s got to see it through now, he can’t turn back. That way he’s betraying both sides, and nobody wins. “You don’t have to leave it just yet.” Trevor settles on, words barely a breath.

“I want to.” Alfredo affirms, and he does mean it. “I want to leave the force, but I’d want nothing more than to stay here and lie with you until the problems just go away.”

Trevor laughs softly, then sighs.

“It’s just - difficult.” Alfredo continues, absently rubbing Trevor’s hand with his thumb just as Trevor had done to him earlier. “We’ve been doing this a while and half the guys at work are dirty, too, so it’s not even that. It’s just so final, that’s all. Gonna take me a while to wrap my head around it.”

After a moment of pause, Trevor says simply, “I’ll be here while you do.”

Alfredo looks at him, then - really looks at him. Sees the familiar face, full of compassion and kindness, and thinks there’s really nothing else he needs. Fuck the LSPD, fuck the city. He’s got Trevor, and the gang, and he’s going to be just fine.

“I love you,” He says, and Trevor smiles as he says it straight back.

“I love you, too. Now, let’s go get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

 

&&

 

No flashing lights, no sirens, no big deal. The three black vehicles parked beside each other are just nondescript enough to blend in without being clocked for being too generic. There’s no other vehicles around, the concrete channel is clear for as far as the uniformed officer driving the middle vehicle can see. Good, she thinks, anything that makes these next few hours easier is very welcome. Her partner has already stepped out, but she remains firmly in her seat, her favourite radio station playing quietly, and ready to turn the engine over at a moment’s notice. Her eyes don’t stop scanning the surroundings she can see, carefully watching for movement.

She doesn’t catch anything at all, though, before the nice detective who’s been supervising the transport from the passenger seat of first vehicle pops up at her window and gestures for her to leave.

Pulling the key out of the ignition, the officer hops out of her door and follows the detective across the dusty part of the ground acting as the street and into the musty looking brick building. Her pistol feels heavier than usual resting on her hip as she steps inside, noting how what looked like a squatters’ paradise from the outside transforms into a rudimentary but tidy police safe-house. 

The cases sit, two on either side of the room, on the floor by the wall, and two on the table in the middle. One side has two uniformed officers sitting on chairs, talking about something intently. Bill and Simon, probably talking about beer, she thinks. The other side has just the one, her partner, and an empty chair. She smiles at the two, nods to the detective, and moves over to sit. There’s a table in the middle of the room, a coat or two scattered across the top. There’s also a set of keys, and she wonders if she was supposed to leave hers on there. 

No one else is driving her car, though.

The detective scratches the back of his neck with an unreadable expression on his face. He stands only a few metres into the room and looks as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Then, with an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he spins and strides back outside.

Alfredo has never felt so odd in all his life, even as he steps back into the cold air. It’s just like every other routine operation he’s been on, the officers are professional but accommodating, they all know what they’re doing, and everything is going as Plan B dictates. But it’s not like every other operation he’s been on, because it’s going to end badly for those officers, and it certainly won’t go as the LSPD planned. Because of him - he’s the reason that’ll happen, and god, he could vibrate in excitement, but something still feels backwards.

He goes to check with the officers round the back, innately aware of what’s about to happen to them, and makes sure to smile extra apologetically when one remarks how cold it is out here.

Alfredo tries to look up to the street and spot the crew, but he’d have to squint, and it’s impossible to do that discreetly or casually. So he simply says his farewell and heads back to the front. There, he takes his position outside the front door, and waits.

And waits.

It’s because he’s listening for it that he hears the muffled sound of a body being lowered to the floor after a swift carotid-choke. But he doesn’t move, because the officer next to him doesn’t move either. He turns to the guy, nods up at a coffee cart on the main street, then fishes twenty dollars out of his wallet.

“Wanna go get us some coffees?” He asks, and the guy nods.

“Sure.” He replies, and just like that, he’s gone.

Five minutes later, he barely makes out the sound of metal chair legs scraping against concrete flooring and the following solid sounding thump, as he spots the other officer making his way back down from the coffee place. Alfredo waits, the muscles in his back as taut as a bowstring, until he returns. 

“You wanna take them in?” He asks, and Alfredo almost lets out a breath. Yeah, he fucking does.

“Yeah, why not.” He says, instead, and is handed the cup holder containing four coffees.

Balancing it on one hand, Alfredo reaches a hand out to the door handle as the other officer turns away to face their parked vehicles. He opens the door a crack, then uses both hands to carry the coffees and his hip to push the door open. Here goes nothing, he supposes.

Time to perform, as Trevor would say.

“Hey, I brought you guys some cof-” He starts, and cuts himself off as soon as the door shuts behind him and he fully turns.

Three masked, heavily armed men, stand among the officers he expected to be here. Through a crack in a door off to the side, he can just about see the duct-taped feet of the guards from outside. Of the two men sat on the left, only one is conscious, scowling at the .45 pointed at his chest as his own handcuffs are used to secure him to the chair he’s at. The other is slumped, half on the chair, half on the floor, a tiny bit of blood pooling by his eyebrow.

His other two officers aren’t in much better shape - one’s already duct taped to his chair, an arm twisted awkwardly behind his back, but not broken, mouth taped over. The other - his main driver - is staring down the barrel of a M16A3. Alfredo instantly recognises the man holding that rifle, and tries his best to ignore the flutter in his stomach. 

Because as soon as he sees Trevor, nothing about the situation feels backwards anymore. It feels right, and it feels like he’s got everything under control. Even though, now, he’s got to pretend the complete opposite. 

The one Alfredo recognises as Geoff, stood further back and lazily pointing his handgun at the guy Ryan’s handcuffing, immediately has the weapon pointed at him, instead.

“Woah,” He breathes, feigning surprise, “Fellas.”

He notices their pistols in three piles, partly disassembled and unloaded, on the table in the middle. His crew was quick, Alfredo thinks absently. Then he raises his hands out to the side, one still holding onto the coffees.

Trevor glances to Geoff, who nods his head towards Alfredo. They smoothly swap places, and Trevor’s pointing the gun towards Alfredo, now. 

“Just you outside?” He asks, voice muffled by the mask, but still unmistakably Trevor.

Alfredo pauses a second before replying with, “Yes,” and doesn’t look his main driver in the eye when she shoots him a distressed look. “You already got my guys at the back.”

Trevor’s shoulders shake in what could have been a laugh had they been alone, but they’re surrounded by scared, angry, or unconscious officers, so Alfredo doesn’t take it as anything more than an act. Trevor’s not trying to be endearing or seem trustworthy this time, anyways, Alfredo supposes.

“I guess we did.” He replies, finally.

Ryan’s finished with the officer, and picks the two cases off the floor between the two chairs. He has to holster his gun to do so, and Alfredo’s police-trained-brain tells him that’s the vulnerability he could exploit, flip the situation in his favour - then he remembers that, one: that’s Ryan, who could tear him to shreds with a bobby pin, and two: Alfredo’s on their side. So he just hopes the other officers don’t spot the same thing and try something that’ll endanger them.

Geoff grabs the two cases on his side, and it feels like only seconds passed between Alfredo walking in and those two walking out, about four million dollars richer than when they forced their way in.

The rifle’s still trained on Alfredo’s chest, the laser dot barely shaking just above where his heart pounds in his chest, as Trevor takes a step closer.

“Walk,” Trevor says gesturing with his weapon, and there’s something different about his voice, now, on this job. Something that wasn’t there on the last countless times Alfredo’s robbed somewhere with him. 

Excitement, Alfredo identifies.

Trevor gestures again, towards the cases on the table, and Alfredo gets the message. But, for the sake of the performance, he looks blankly, as if conflicted, between Trevor, the cases, the officer handcuffed to her chair glancing at him for leadership, then back to Trevor.

To make his point, with his spare hand Trevor pulls a handgun from his waistband, points it directly at the officer’s head, and her eyes widen. Alfredo thinks she would have gasped had she been able to. 

“Okay,” Alfredo says, immediately appeasing, “okay. I’m walking.”

“Good boy,” Trevor says in that teasing tone of his, and Alfredo wants to curse him. “Pick up the cases, if you would be so kind.” 

Alfredo grits his teeth - partly to appear under duress, but mainly to stop himself from smiling. But he sets the coffees down and grabs the handles of both cases, looks over his shoulder at Trevor.

Then there’s the rifle, poking into his spine with just enough pressure to make Alfredo shiver. This isn’t the first time that he’s been in this kind of situation, and it certainly won’t be the last, but it still sends an uneasy feeling down his entire body. 

“Safety’s on, baby, you’re doing great.” A whisper in his ear, shockingly different to his character and barely even loud enough for him to catch the words before they’re hidden back underneath Trevor’s hardened exterior. Alfredo’s cheeks threaten to heat up, and he knows exactly what he’ll do to Trevor once they’re outside.

A gentle push with the gun and Trevor walks Alfredo out, both gingerly stepping over the two guards in the backroom, then out into the fresh air. It’s a relief to be out, and as soon as the door shuts behind them, Trevor removes the gun.

Alfredo swivels on his feet and presses a swift, powerful kiss to Trevor’s lips. Trevor’s spare hand, the handgun obviously put away, instinctively comes up to hold Alfredo’s waist.

They pull apart, just barely, and laugh into each other’s lips. 

“That was surprisingly easy.” Alfredo says, and Trevor laughs again.

Then they set off walking back up to the street as if they haven’t just stolen six million dollars - as if they’re just two boys in love, on a romantic walk through somewhere equally romantic like a park. 

Alfredo would have to use his imagination significantly if he had wanted to imagine the disgusting, dirty, concrete surroundings as a park, so he doesn’t. Instead he understands that no matter where they walk, it’s like home when he’s walking next to Trevor. 

When they reach the street, Geoff is waiting, resting against the passenger side door of a perfectly indiscreet silver Accord, and smirks at them. Alfredo pops the trunk, slots the two cases into the empty duffel bag, zips it up and closes the trunk again. 

As soon as he’s sat down in the backseat and closed his door, Ryan’s turned the engine over and is speeding off from the curb.

 

&&

 

“You know, Alfredo, I don’t understand how you stayed employed for so long,” Ryan laughs, after a short stint of silence in which they all quietly, communally, relish the warm and satisfied feeling after a successful job. “You were quite possibly the worst detective I’ve ever met.”

“We’ve known this from the start.” Trevor says, leaning to kiss Alfredo on the cheek.

“I think we’ve said, ‘Take away Alfredo’s guns, and he’s useless.” Geoff points out, and Alfredo makes a sound of protest.

“That’s not -” He starts, but can’t finish for the chorus of “Yeah, it is,” from the others. He grumbles without any malice.

“Well, now he’s where he belongs.” Trevor says, and Ryan can’t quite manage to bite back his unimpressed groan.

“He is.” Geoff says, staring out of the windscreen like only a wistfully wise and retiring mob boss could think about doing.

Alfredo, to his credit, sits among them looking happy as a pig in shit. He really is where he belongs, and he can feel it in the buzz of the air, in the slightly-too-fast beating of his heart and in the striking awareness of the blood pumping through his veins. Trevor reaches his hand out and rests it over Alfredo’s - it’s a tiny, gentle act, and Alfredo wouldn’t have felt so touched if Trevor wasn’t still sat with a rifle between his knees, in black combat gear and a stupid looking mask rested atop his head.

He reaches up to take the damn thing off Trevor’s head, because if that doesn’t get them noticed, identified, and arrested, then Alfredo doesn’t know what would. Trevor grins to himself when Alfredo does.

The atmosphere in the car is just how Alfredo wants the rest of his life to feel - they’re all so high off the adrenaline, off of the danger, even when there was barely any resistance. It feels just like winning should.

But then the sirens start up, far too close behind them for Alfredo’s liking, and that feeling ramps up to eleven. Him and Trevor simultaneously twist to look out the back window, both cursing at the same time as Ryan’s little amused, and slightly unnerving, giggle. There’s four police cars behind them, and one’s close enough for Alfredo to recognise the driver. He quickly puts his head down.

Trevor grins, then, and pulls his rifle up so it’s resting lengthways across his knees, barrel pointing to his door. Geoff takes the first shot, even before Trevor’s got his window wound down, and the ripple effect makes Alfredo’s hairs stand on end. Gunfights were always his strong point, his favourite part of the job.

Geoff wordlessly hands a pistol into the back, and after a short moment Alfredo thinks fuck it, takes the gun and slides Trevor’s mask over his face. He winds the window down and lets familiarity take over, aiming for the left wheel of the first car. He hasn’t zeroed the weapon, so his first few shots don’t ring true, but on the fourth he nails it and the car spins off - out of sight, out of mind. The gun fires a little more left and down than he was expecting, and firing from the backseat of a car is never easy. He doesn’t reckon he’ll hit a shot like that again.

Trevor’s leaning out the other side to shoot, and what a pair they must make.

The car jolts as an officer’s bullet strikes their tyre, and Ryan fights to control the car. There’s still two cars behind them, but they must be topping 100 by now. Alfredo breathes again, shoots the last bullet in his mag at the bottom centre of one car’s windscreen and immediately it cracks into tiny little pieces, and even if it doesn’t fall apart, the driver slows down enough so that Trevor can shoot a burst of fire at the front tyres, spinning them out of control.

Trevor wolf whistles, as he lets out another burst of shots into the remaining car - they hit the bonnet in inch-wide intervals. 

Then he hears Ryan shout something - he can’t make out what - before the car swerves round a corner, and his body goes tumbling straight into Trevor’s. In less than a few seconds, Alfredo thinks if Trevor wasn’t trapped underneath him they’d both have gone straight through the windscreen with how hard Ryan pulled the car to a stop.

“Out,” Geoff says quickly, both him and Ryan already jumping out to grab the bags from the trunk.

Trevor mumbles something to Alfredo along the lines of “Can’t reach.”

“I’ve got it,” Alfredo affirms, groping along the car door until he reaches what he’s looking for and pulls. Trevor falls backwards onto the concrete as the door no longer provides the support, and Alfredo follows straight afterwards. Crumpled in a heap on the cold concrete of an enclosed parking lot, they both start to laugh.

“Still getting chased, lovebirds.” Geoff says, amusement filling his voice.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Trevor says, then pushes Alfredo off. They both stand up, and Trevor reaches into the car to grab their weapons, while Ryan hands Alfredo the duffel bag he filled earlier. A siren gets more and more insistent the more they stand there, and Alfredo swears he can hear another from the opposite direction. 

“Split up, meet back at ours.” Geoff says, and before they know it he’s gone, Ryan on his heels, sprinting down to the other road.

It’s easy enough to lose a tail on foot in Los Santos, if you know where to run.

Luckily for them, Alfredo does.

“Come on,” He says, setting off the way Geoff and Ryan hadn’t gone. 

 

&&

 

“Seamless.” Trevor’s panting, leaning heavily against the wall, but has an infectious, adrenaline-fuelled sort of smile stretching across his face. There’s a scrape of blood across his eyebrow, running with the sweat, but Alfredo still thinks he looks perfect.

“Shut up,” Alfredo replies.

Their Honda is still where they left it, surprisingly, with no police presence around. They’re not sure how, but now that they’re back, they’ve gotta destroy it. It’s stolen, anyways, from some rich prick up in Vinewood. He won’t miss it, sitting next to the three white sports cars he had on his driveway. 

“Make me.” Trevor says, grin full of cheek, lifting his chin up.

Alfredo laughs, then crowds Trevor up against the wall he’s leaning against; with one hand on his hip and another flat against the wall above his shoulder, Alfredo leans forwards, meeting Trevor halfway in a long-overdue kiss. It’s full of teeth, and sweat, and harsh breaths - but it’s very them, and there’s nothing much else in the world Trevor could ask for anymore. 

They pull apart, and Trevor reaches to Alfredo’s chest, grasping his LSPD badge in one hand. Alfredo steps back and in a stilted motion that he wishes were smooth, Trevor pulls the badge off his neck, then a lighter from his pocket. 

There’s a can of fuel in the trunk, he knows from earlier, and in a scarily short amount of time Alfredo’s smashed all four windows and doused the inside of the car.

Trevor sparks the lighter and throws it through the back window, eyes lighting up in glee the only way blowing something up can cause. He holds out Alfredo’s badge to him, and Alfredo takes it without a second thought and throws it into the back seat almost like he’s skimming a stone.

With that, they jog back away from the car to watch as it’s slowly swallowed by heat and flames.

After a few minutes of watching, fingers intertwined, Trevor brings him in for another kiss. Perfectly backlit by the bright orange and yellow glow of the car burning up on their new beginning.


End file.
